To Save A Saviour
by Arinia
Summary: 2012: An economic crisis grips the European Union and Germany stands alone as the continent's sole saviour. An overwhelming task filled with arduous demands , tainted by accusations of Nazism and world domination, this saviour's perseverance is just about through. There's no one on Earth who he can just be Germany around, is there? One-shot.


**Warnings:**None, except lots of fluff, hints of GerIta, and calling various European nations broke. Sorry if you are Greek or Spanish; I still love your countries!

**Disclaimer:** I would never be so bold as to claim I own the rights to nations. Oh, Hetalia? Yeah, I guess I don't own that either. Sigh.

To Save a Saviour

Ping!

And another one.

Ping!

Ping!

Ping!

And they just kept coming.

Germany let his head fall into his cupped hands, furiously kneading his temples with his knuckles. Turning on his laptop, he could only stare as his inbox steadily filled with emails from his boss, his fellow nations, and God knows who else.

He noticed they all had the courtesy to flag their email as "Urgent!"

It had been one hell of a week. Months, in fact. With the European Union in constant financial turbulence, Germany as the only one who had enough common sense not to rack up outrageous deficits was left to clean up the mess the other nations found themselves in. Germany was a little more than sick of Greece, Spain, and Ireland coming to him cap in hand, crying poor, and bombarding him with angry emails when he refused to blindly hand out money. And, by the looks of it, his last refusal had only spurred on their requests.

With a long sigh, Germany scrolled to the top of the page, and dove in.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111 1111111111111

Germany remained as ramrod straight as he always did despite the poisonous whispers that trailed behind him from the conference room. He was no fool; he knew the other countries considered him stingy at best and desiring a Fourth Reich at worst. He idly wondered if he should even bother showing up anymore, if all he had to look forward to was poorly disguised mutiny.

But he could not flinch, or shift from his stoic expression. He cut an intimidating figure; the others, for all their treacherous gossip, still feared him. If he were to show the slightest emotion, his weakness would be devoured and Germany would be in ruin.

Not even with Italy (and his face flushed) could he be anything other than a drill sergeant. He had heard rumours that his carefree crush was on the fast track to bankruptcy as well, and Germany was a firm believer in tough love.

Still, it would be nice to just be able to rip off the mask without fear of repercussion. Just once…

Arriving home, his irritation only grew as he saw Prussia lazing on the couch, a beer bottle clutched in one hand, and a cigarette dangling from his twisted smirk.

"How many times have I said, no smoking in the house?" Germany snapped, jerking off his tie. Prussia only snickered, a stream of smoke accompanying it.

"God," he muttered under his breath. It was hard to believe that the albino sprawled on his sofa was the same mighty nation who once sent other armies screaming in the opposite direction as soon as they saw his feathered hat.

"Oi, West! What's for dinner?"

"Nothing for you!" he retorted. He could almost feel a vein begin to throb in his forehead. "You want something, make it yourself!" Prussia's characteristic laugh rang out, sounding like nails on a chalkboard for the embattled nation.

He marched to his office, eager to get away from his apathetic older brother. The pile of emails had only gotten bigger, and Germany couldn't help but let out a groan. The sheer magnitude of the crisis was swamping him. He didn't even know where to begin to solve it. Everyone needed a bailout. Everyone had a sob story. As grim statistics swam before his eyes, Germany found it hard to concentrate. This nation was almost bankrupt, and this nation was re-electing their third government in two weeks, and this nation was threatening to leave the euro…

And it was all in his hands. If he screwed up the entire union would collapse.

It was all too much. The room felt too stifling, even though the window was ajar and a cool summer breeze was blowing in. Hour after hour he slogged through endless emails with hardly any progress. He buried his face in his hands, willing himself to regain his composure.

The room was spinning, and he could feel the panic of his citizens beneath his skin. If he was like Italy he would be sobbing in the corner right now. But he was Germany, and that meant he had to be expressionless and strong because damnit any weakness would be exploited by those unscrupulous bastards…

"West?" He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. He jumped, instinctively grabbing the wrist and twisting. Another hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. Fierce red eyes met him unflinchingly and Germany released the captive hand. Prussia's hand fell away just as quickly, the ex-nation straightening up.

"You do realize it's three in the morning right?" Germany turned back to his laptop, his expression falling back into its usual scowl. Had that many hours passed?

"I'm working." Prussia snorted.

"No, you're having a panic attack." The laptop was slammed shut. "You're coming to bed." Germany was about to respond that no, he most certainly wasn't, but Prussia had already hauled him to his feet. "Yes you are," he said, more seriously than Germany could ever remember him being, "because I'm the older brother and I damn well say so."

He was pulled into his room and Prussia warned that he's booby trapping his office so Germany better stay in that room if he knows what's good for him. And Prussia would, Germany thought as he mechanically changed into his pyjamas, and knowing him it'd be equal parts ingenious and horrifying.

He lay down and closed his eyes, willing his breathing to becoming slow and steady and to wipe his mind blank. But tremors still rippled through his body, and red numbers were tattooed on his eyelids. He could feel a crushing weight on his chest, and instead of slow and easy, his breathing was becoming ragged.

He was out of his room before he even was conscious of it, his feet leading him down towards the basement. When he reached his destination he stopped, awareness springing up again. He didn't know why he was suddenly at Prussia's door, staring at the red light spilling underneath the wooden frame. Prussia had done nothing but infuriate him, offering no substantive help as Germany waded through the economic crisis. Why he felt the need to come running to his big brother…

He was about to turn away until he heard the springs creak as Prussia flopped onto his bed. The urge to be in there too engulfed him unexpectedly and Germany seized the handle before he could talk himself out of it.

Prussia was lying on his stomach; Gilbird perched loyally on his head. Several leather bound books were scattered in front of him. The albino didn't even glance up as he shifted over to make room. Germany didn't join right away, lingering in the doorway as embarrassment crept in. After a few minutes, Prussia looked up with raised eyebrows.

"Uh… what are you reading?" Germany asked, closing the door behind him and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"My diaries," Prussia responded, a Cheshire grin lighting his features. "From the Franco-Prussia war. You remember that?" Germany nodded.

"Yes, that is where you crowned me."

"The very same!" Prussia snickered. "Hard to believe that was over a hundred years ago. Old Frenchie still hasn't forgiven me for it," he laughed, and the sound was comforting, rather than annoying. Germany inched closer for a better look.

"Can you blame him? You picked Versailles, and in the Hall of Mirrors no less! You really rubbed salt in the wound."

"Yeah whatever, he got his revenge with that filthy treaty." They shared a shudder and a grimace, and Germany was briefly overwhelmed with memories from the First War, where everything changed. He ran his hand absentmindedly through his hair, gently working out the gelled locks. Prussia noticed, and reached up a hand to muss it, letting it fall naturally in his eyes. Germany glared at him, and Prussia smirked in return.

"Ah the glory days," Prussia sighed dramatically, tossing that one aside and picking up another one. He picked a page at random, and gave a triumphant yell.

"And this is about the first battle we won in that fucking war! You remember that one? We were nearly dead and we still beat them." He grinned at him, and Germany couldn't remember when he had lain down beside him. "This was our first battle together and we kicked their asses."

"I remember being excited for that," Germany remarked softly, a touch of nostalgic bitterness colouring his tone. "All those wars that you left me at home for. And finally, we got to fight side by side."

"This was the first entry I actually started with you instead of me," Prussia admitted, and Germany leaned closer to look. Sure enough, his brother's elegant handwriting read, "Today, West was fucking awesome…"

He started when he realized Prussia had started reading it, pausing in all the right places, adding sound effects, and exaggerated gestures. Every tiny detail was recorded and Germany could almost believe he's back on the grubby battlefield, as he gives one final blow to Britain, Prussia beside him laughing loudly and clapping him on the back. His brother had always been a natural storyteller; Germany recalled fondly the wild tales he would spin for him as a child.

"And I don't remember anything after that because West and I got so hammered we woke up in the ammunition supply tent," Prussia finished with a flourish, snapping that journal shut. Germany laughed (and it felt so long since he's actually done that).

"I don't remember much after that either," he said, still chuckling. "I think we did try and throw our bottles in Britain's trenches and turned it into a drinking game." Prussia threw his head back with a kessesseesse!

"We did! Haha I forgot about that!" It continued on like that, Prussia enacting his diaries, pale face aglow from the kerosene lamp in front of them. Germany pulled the blanket over him, content to watch his brother who had propped himself up with a plush yellow canary. The tremors stilled as the stress ebbed away, doomsday thoughts dispelled by comforting baritone. Some small part of him chided his idleness but Germany couldn't bring himself to drag his weary body to his office.

Before he knew it, the grey dawn was winking through the blinds and Prussia had ceased, gathering up his precious memoirs and reverently placing them back on his shelf. The lamp dimmed and Prussia was beside him, Gilbird flying off to his cage. Germany was boneless on the bed, the dizzying lure of sleep welcoming, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refused to succumb.

"Don't make me sing you a lullaby, or it'll be the last thing you ever hear," Prussia warned. Germany grunted, trying to school his expression back to sternness but his brother's familiar smile was a little too knowing. The same smile he had worn each time Germany begged to be brought to war alongside him. The same smile when he had insisted on taking on Britain by himself.

His eyelids drooped despite his best efforts as calloused fingers mussed up his hair once more. Prussia chuckled but Germany couldn't muster up the effort to retort or even glare. "Even after all these years, a bedtime story never fails to knock you out. Except now it takes 12 you greedy bastard."

He felt slightly embarrassed and he managed to crack open an eyelid to witness Prussia chortling to himself. His brother caught his eye and grinned, using his index finger to force the eye closed again. Germany huffed, but his lips tugged upwards anyway.

"You know me too well," he admitted, his sleep-deprived state forcing his honesty.

"Of course I do! I know you the best! I raised you to be awesome after all." That simple statement sent the last of Germany's barriers crashing down. His brain was awash in the memories dredged up by Prussia, whizzing through his mind in rapid succession. There was no hiding here; not with the one who had stood by his side through everything.

Who had meticulously recorded it for God sakes.

The one person with whom he could let his mask crumble without fear his vulnerabilities would be exploited.

The liberating realization was what allowed him to expel a shuddering breath, the closest he'd ever come to tears. Prussia didn't hold him, or offer words of comfort; that'd never been his style. He simply kept guard while Germany had this rare moment of weakness, and he did not move until the choked breaths evened out, and the body beside him slumped.

Only then did he steal out of the room, sharp mind whirring with plans to raise hell to the nations that caused this.

**A/N:**This is nearly a year old and finally I've worked up the nerve to post it. It was my very first Hetalia fic, and my first foray into my favourite brotherly relationship: Prussia and Germany. It was inspired by an absolutely gorgeous fanart of Prussia reading his diaries to Germany by a kerosene lamp. I have no idea who the artist is or where you can find it, but if anyone ever does, do let me know. Obviously, this was written during the heyday of the EU crisis where Germany was bailing everyone out and imposing severe austerity measures. I always wanted to do a modern take on Hetalia and delve into how Germany himself must feel having to play the Saviour of the EU. And, of course having Prussia come to the rescue, while still keeping them in character. Reviews are much appreciated, especially since this is my first introduction into the fandom, so do tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!


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